Kevin clocked it—the mess inside the prison was uglier than he’d figured.

  Walkers poured in like fuckin’ rats from every damn nook, turning the cellblock into a straight-up slaughterhouse. Women, old folks, and kids bolted for their lives. Over a dozen walkers pinned down the unlucky, chomping and tearing into ‘em. Blood gushed, guts splashed, and screams bounced off the walls.

  Rikk and the crew stood there, jaws dropped. They’d just slammed those damn doors shut with the Prison Key, and the routine sweeps had been clean. So how the hell did these walkers sneak in?

  No time to chew on it now. Sharn, Mionne, Melk, and the rest were scrapping for their damn lives. They lit up when Rikk and his squad rolled in as backup. Everybody snatched their gear and unloaded on the walker swarm.

  Marissa, Razor Hawk, and the newbies weren’t about to sit on their hands. They whipped out fresh weapons—snagged with team points from the story crew—and blasted the walkers, sending ‘em staggering and yowling. They knew if the NPC team tanked, they’d all be toast.

  These weren’t your everyday shamblers. Second mutation jacked ‘em up—big and nasty as hell. Average walker now loomed 6 feet, with some brutes hitting 6.5. They’d beefed up too, tipping over 200 pounds. Muscles bulged hard, busting through skin, flashing bloody meat and veins. Looked uglier and hit way harder.

  Kevin hacked at a 6.5-foot walker with his fuckin’ blade, but the damn thing swatted him off like a bug. He pegged their Strength at over 10 points—blew his mind. Back when he’d rolled into Omnispace, his Strength was a measly 3. Gear and boosts had juiced it to 8, enough to scrap with regular walkers.

  But these mutated freaks? Whole different beast. The other newbies didn’t stand a chance—out of their league. Even two of ‘em teaming up would get chewed up trying to drop one of these bastards.

  And it got uglier. Old-school walkers rocked about 60 HP, but these tanks were pushing 80.

  Kevin popped a shot clean into a walker’s skull, a chill crawling up his spine. The thing reeled, dazed for a hot second, then let out a nasty howl and charged him again.

  One headshot didn’t drop ‘em cold anymore! This flipped the whole damn game—power scale gone sideways. What used to take one pop now needed two or more, slashing their kill rate in half.

  But Kevin wasn’t tapping out. He lunged at the walker, jamming his blade into its throat, then hacked its head clean off with a slick swipe. The freak hit the dirt, rampage done.

  Kevin scoped the chaos, hunting a familiar mug. There—Mallow, smack in the shitstorm.

  Meanwhile, Rikk’s kid Cahl was locked in a hardcore chase, tailing a blood-drenched walker. Danger be damned, Cahl’s face was carved with grit, unloading his revolver into the thing, hate blazing in his head.

  Mallow saw his shot and charged, trusty steel shovel flashing in the gloom. He smashed the walker down with raw swings. But Cahl’s fire wasn’t quenched—he kept blasting the head into a nasty pulp.

  Kevin flicked his eyes over and clocked a woman’s body nearby. Her gut was ripped wide, half her insides chewed up. Blood plastered her face, blurring the details, but Cahl’s freakout and her gear screamed it—Rikk’s wife, Lorrah!

  Lorrah was stone dead. Same as the old tale, a walker had slipped in from the prison’s back end and got her. But there—smack on her head—a clean bullet hole.

  Cahl wailed, gutted. This kid—barely ten—had choked down his mom’s last plea and popped her himself before she turned into one of those damn freaks!

  A gut-punch nightmare, no kidding!

  Kevin’s brain kicked into gear. That family pic he’d snagged from Rikk’s place flashed up—maybe this useless junk had some juice now.

  Walkers’ slow roll was their big flaw. Hardened pros like the main crew could still drop these mutated bastards with one headshot or a quick blade swing.

  Even with their second mutation and jacked-up tricks, the story crew and newbies teamed up and got it done. The prison defenders shoved the front line back hard, all the way to Zone D’s back door.

  Glenor slammed that sucker shut just in time, leaving the walkers gnashing and clawing at the iron bars. They were like rabid dogs, starving for a bite. But the door stood tough, and all they could do was howl their damn guts out.

  Over at Zone D’s front, the iron gate was locked down with H-shaped steel beams, sealing the walkers out cold. They bashed it with everything they had, but that thing wasn’t budging an inch.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  For now, they’d dodged the worst of it.

  The crew started sizing up the wreckage. The toll was brutal—23 story vets got smoked in the shitshow, tons taken out by the walker swarm that hit from the prison’s rear. Among the dead? The big lady herself, Lorrah.

  Rikk stood watch over Lorrah’s dead frame, face locked in stone-cold grief. Cahl hung quiet beside him, eyes hollowed out by the mess.

  Just minutes back, the kid had gone full beast mode—way past his years—popping off with killer aim, dropping over 10 walkers. His shots were nuts, like he’d been born with a gun in hand. Kevin, who’d burned through rounds like candy and still sucked with pistols, felt like a damn chump.

  The newbies took hits too—first from the machine gun spray, then the next wave. Three got smoked, and two were hanging by a thread, including Sally, shredded to chunks by a tower blast.

  Lorrah and Sally going down gutted the crew hard.

  Omnispace’s voice rang out: “Defend the Prison Phase 1 has concluded. Despite significant losses, 80% of your group remains intact. You are secure for the night. The mission is halfway completed—Phase 2 commences tomorrow at 7 a.m.”

  The crew had finally snagged some breathing room. That first shitstorm was the ugliest—now they’d got their act together, defenses locked on both ends. Walkers couldn’t bust in, so they were good ‘til dawn.

  Come sunrise, walker hustle would drop off. That’s when they’d map out a counter punch.

  Rikk, the head honcho, was choking on guilt and grief over Lorrah. He slumped there, eyes glued to her dead husk, kissing her ghost-pale face like she was just napping. Aundra, Amy, and the old doc tried yakking at him, but it was like talking to a brick wall.

  Even Marissa, working her charm to cozy up, got shoved off hard. Her face flipped—like she’d caught some Omnispace ping—and she stomped off to her cell, slamming the door with a bang.

  Mallow cracked a grin. “This chick, right after the man’s wife croaks, tries to slide in and play sidepiece. Probably pissed Rikk off good—her stock’s tanking now, not climbing into mistress territory. Heh…”

  Kevin paused, then said, “But we can’t lose Rikk as the head man. The crew’s grit rides on him keeping it tight. If he cracks, our counter punch tomorrow’s toast.”

  He stepped over to Cahl, Rikk’s lone kid, and pulled out that beat-up family photo. “Snagged this from your spot when we rolled through town,” he said. “Sorry about your mom, little man. It’s rough, but it ain’t on you. She gets it, she’s cool with you, and she loves you more than anything, kiddo.”

  Cahl, the tough nut, finally broke—tears spilling as he stared at the last family snap. He charged Rikk, knocking him flat. “You jerk!” he hollered. “You killed my mom! I hate your guts!”

  Rikk clamped his son tight and roared, “Yeah, it’s all on me! I’m done here! Don’t even try stopping me!”

  He snatched his assault rifle, ready to bolt out the front hatch. Kevin clocked it quick—rushed in, grabbed his arm, and yanked him back from the door.

  Rikk hit the deck, muttering, “Get the hell outta my way, you bastard! Let me go! Let me die!”

  Cahl bolted over, pleading, “Dad, don’t do this! I need you!”

  Rikk locked eyes with his kid, a spark kicking in. “Yeah, I hear you, little man. Can’t quit now—I’ve gotta raise you, for your mom…”

  He scooped up Lorrah’s dead weight and marched to his cell. Before shutting the door, he shot Kevin a look loaded with raw gratitude.

  “Worldhopper 4444, your timely call and selfless hustle pulled the team through. Using the plot item, you triggered the hidden subplot Rikk’s Lament, snapping the guilt-drunk Rikk awake early. For this, you snag a 2% Plot Deviation Rate and 300 team points. Plus, Rikk’s vibe with you jumps to Intimate, Cahl’s to Grateful.”

  The 300 team points looked real juicy, but Kevin hadn’t forgotten—he’d shelled out 100 of his own to save their asses. Figured he’d doubled that back, plus nabbed another 100 for cracking Rikk’s Lament—standard payout for hidden subplot gigs.

  After a brutal, soul-crushing night, the story crew and newbies were beat to shit—body and mind. But nobody crashed out. One nasty question gnawed at ‘em all:

  Who the fuck cracked that damn door for the walkers?

  Morimaru hauled up and said, “I got a hunch who fucked us over.”

  Everybody swung their eyes his way. He laid it out, “I was scrounging in Zone A for the key, passed a storage dump, and caught voices inside. Figured survivors maybe, but I was too jammed to poke around. Could be those bastards busted in.”

  “Makes sense,” Marissa said, flat as hell, heading out the cell. “Story goes, five jailbirds are still holed up in this joint, stocked with grub to ride out a stretch. After the story crew pulls ‘em out, their head honcho pays back the save with a knife in the gut. They scrap with Rikk’s posse, and only one runt slips the net. For payback, he drags a walker swarm to the gates, slices the doors open, trips the alarm, and bam—prison’s under siege, just like tonight. We bolted the doors, threw extra boots on patrol, but looks like you can’t outrun the damn script. And Lorrah’s toast ‘cause of it.”

  Marissa flicked her eyes at Morimaru. “Maybe those voices you caught were the original plot NPC jailbirds.”

  Morimaru gave a slow nod, lips zipped, probably piecing the shit together in his head. Most of the other newbies who’d clocked the story nodded along too.

  Kevin kept his gaze locked on Marissa, clocking how she’d tanked with Rikk. Rikk’s screw-up had cost him Lorrah, left him choking on guilt. So when he spotted Marissa—who’d stirred crap between him and Lorrah way back—he’d likely think, “Aw, hell, not this chick again.”

  Without Rikk’s nod, Marissa’s shot at running the newbies was toast. That’s why she was pissy as hell but still yakking nonstop, trying to rope Morimaru into her corner.

  Kevin couldn’t shake it though—Is Marissa on the money? Or is this just Omnispace yanking the damn plot back to its old tracks?